Redemption
by Pepper24
Summary: Sequel to "An Affair to Remember". R
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **And you really thought it was the end

**DISCLAIMER:** I only own my characters

**CHAPTER 1**

_July, 2013_

_Alexandra's Pov_

The light was unforgiving, relentlessly staring. The flash, brighter than the unseen sun, went off, diminishing the light, leaving me in a translucent darkness.

The sounds of chains clanging led me down the hall and into a smaller room filled with rough, gray walls, and iron. My skin drank the coolness of the iron through the rags of cloth, panting and begging for more than the iron was willing to give.

The translucent darkness…the veil forever cascading.

_**Monday, July 8**__**th**__**, 2013**_

"DOCKET NUMBER #39876. The People of Chicago v. Alexandra Michelle Williams."

The familiar chains jangled and I was pulled up off the hard wooden surface.

"Your honor, my client-"

"Enough….Look at me, Miss Williams."

I couldn't.

"Look at me."

Slowly, very slowly, my eyes turned upwards, facing the stinging blur of black.

"Give me one reason not to send your pathetic, druggie ass to prison for the rest of your life."

The room was quiet…an endless ache of disapproval.

My lips mumbled incoherently.

"Excuse me, Miss Williams? I didn't hear you."

"I said I don't know."

My voice, cracked and raw.

"You don't know." The blur of black took off his glasses and wiped them, slowly, on his handkerchief. "My son is 19 years old. He is a freshman at Harvard, majoring in Political Science...or so he was once upon a time."

I stared at the man in front of me.

"Miss Williams, my son died precisely 13 months ago-ironically around the time you decided to jump bail-of a heroin overdose."

The man in front of me placed his glasses on the ridge of his nose and looked down at me.

"I jumped bail on my son, Miss Williams. I was too far gone in my political aspirations to notice my son and his emerging needs. Needless to say, he turned to heroin to compensate. 6 years later, my son is now entombed forever and my wife sadly joined him, one year to the day he entered into the afterlife."

I felt nothing.

"Miss Williams, I ask you one more time. Give me one reason not to send your pathetic, druggie ass in jail for the rest of your life."

"So I don't throw my life away?"

The man sighed.

"Miss Williams, I am giving you one year to clean up your act. How you do so is up to you. You are not allowed to leave Chicago under any circumstances without special permission from this court. You will be under constant supervision at all times and above all, I suggest you get a better lawyer."

The gavel slammed against the wood.

"Miss Williams, you are dismissed."

**A/N: ** Reviews, please!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** My sincerest apologies for being away for so long! Graduation, job hunting, beginning the new job, and studying for counseling certification is time consuming; not to mention lap top issues put a wrench in writing.

Unless otherwise stated, all chapters will be in Alexandra's POV.

**DISCLAIMER:** I own only my characters.

**CHAPTER 2**

_3 months later…_

I stared at the clock. **3:59 A.M. **The red lines were now dull, burned into my retinas.

The numbers slowly switched to **4:00 A.M.** The buzzer sounded in a far off distance, telling me to get out of bed or face the consequences.

I threw on the wrinkled clothes that slept on the floor, stuffed my feet into old sneakers, and tip toed downstairs.

My day is the same every day. At precisely **4:10 A.M.** I eat a piece of stale toast. No butter. I won't eat anything more.

At **4:15 A.M.** I empty the chimney of the night's contents. I know what's in there. I listen to it all night long.

At **4:20 A.M.** I started the fire. It is used for the winter. Windows are used for the summer.

The bread man arrives at exactly **4:30 A.M.** every morning. It's my job to oversee the unloading of the bread, pay the guy, and then put the bread away.

At **5:00 A.M. **I turn on the lights. I turn the stoves, ovens, everything on so the short order chef (that was he demands to be called) won't complain when he arrives for work.

At **5:25 A.M.** I turn on the televisions in the bar.

At 5:30 A.M. Lou's Place is officially opened for business.

"What can I get you sugar?"

The bar is bursting with patrons this morning. Mostly corporate men in cheap business suits trying to catch a glimpse of Amber, the waitress, in her skin tight uniform with her bosom bursting and buttoning screaming on her outfit.

Amber, 35, is as natural as crystal meth. Standing at 5'7 (thanks to her teased, dyed red hair) she arrived in Chicago six months ago to "make it" in show business (why Chicago I'll never know). After five months of nothing, she arrived on Lou's doorstep, starving and begging for a job.

She was an instant hit with the male customers and became a freak sideshow for the women that come in here. She talked one guy into buying her a new set of breasts and another one is paying her rent in an apartment over on 53rd street.

I hear the area is full of prostitutes.

She throws her head back as she gawks at some joke one of the male patrons makes as he pitifully flirts with her. She rights nothing but her phone number on the order tab with those long, red nails.

She ignores me to the best of her ability. She does whisper behind my back as does Shep.

Shep is 49 and a world renowned chef in his own mind. He lost out at some cooking contest in Arkansas some years back and migrated to Chicago because of embarrassment. His hair is black and greasy. He has more hair coming out of his shirt than he does under his chef hat.

He arrived right before Amber did, insisting to be called _**Chef**_ instead of Shep. He and Amber attempt, and sometimes succeed, in making my life a living hell.

Shep was currently glaring at Amber through the peek-a-boo window he used to slide food out for the customers. He has a thing for Amber and although I'm sure the two of them have gotten together on several occasions, he is quite possessive.

"Take this to table 7 and hurry your anorexic ass up" he barked "there are dishes in here that need to be washed."

Did I mention I was their bitch too?

When they arrived, Lou told me my load at the bar would lighten up since we have more help. I actually believed him until Amber and Shep blackmailed me into doing their work by telling Lou I was sitting on my ass and not lifting a finger while the two of them ran around, trying to please every patron that walked in the place.

Needless to say I've been their bitch since then.

I juggled the plates and scrambled to table 7. I wasn't noticed as I placed the food in front of the male patrons who were too busy discussing what they would do to Amber's boobs.

I scurried back to the kitchen to do the dishes and my entertainment is Shep's constant muttering of "Amber this and Amber that" while abusing the omelets on the grill.

I hear Amber's heels clicking on the linoleum floor as she throws dishes into the full sink, soaking me with dishwashing liquid.

"Dumb fucking retard not doing her fucking job." Amber screeches as her clicking heels take her out of the kitchen.

That's my nickname. Retard.

I hear Amber's sweet voice echo through the peak-a-boo window and Shep slams his fist on the grill, spilling wet egg onto the floor.

Burning flesh fills the air as Shep stomps towards me.

"**Look what you fucking did you fucking retard!"** Shep's face is as red as his hand. He takes a pot of boiling water and flings it at me. My left hand catches the most of the hot water. I scream in pain as the clicking heels come running in again.

"**What the fuck is going on back here?!"** Amber screeches. She looks at me, holding my hand, writhing in pain on the floor and then at Shep, who is wide eyed.

There is a click at the back door. Amber reaches for the pot and throws it in the sink. She and Shep kneel next to me, feigning car, as Lou steps inside.

They give him their version of the events.

Lou took me to the hospital to get my hand bandaged. Amber and Shep swore up and down they can handle the bar while Lou and I are away.

Lou is quiet on the way to the hospital. I whimper silently, my hand wrapped in Lou's scarf. The emergency room is quiet. The crowd has cleared out from last night and it's too early for the next batch of bar room brawls to arrive.

A nurse leads me into an examination room with Lou in tow. I tell her the same version of events that Amber shrieked to Lou earlier.

She unwraps my hand and looks at it. The doctor arrives, all smiles. She examines my hands and asks me if I can feel it when she pinches my fingertips.

I lie and say yes.

She says something to Lou about second degree burns and that I may scar. She tells the nurse to wrap my hand and hands me a prescription for an ointment. She says to apply the ointment four times a day and to change the bandages three times a day. She then says to see my primary care doctor in one week.

I nod my head.

The nurse does what she is supposed to do and hands me a goody bag. Lou pays the bill and we're out of the hospital in an hour.

It is noon. Lou says something about lunch. I stare straight ahead out the windshield into the bleak, winter sky.

We stop at some corner café and have lunch. Lou orders the lunch special. I order a cup of soup. I finish the soup because Lou is watching. He pays the bill and we arrive back at the bar much too soon.

The morning crowd is gone and the lunch crowd has taken their place. Same people, same food, same snarky remarks.

Amber feigns sympathy as Lou and I enter the bar. She promises to bring me something later. Lou sends me back to my room for the afternoon. He takes his place behind the bar as I trudge upstairs.

My room is a tiny closet located in a corner. Old, ratty curtains hang over the window, barely keeping out the light.

To the left is my bed, a single. An old, gray fitted sheet clings to the mattress. I have an old quilt and one pillow for bed decoration.

On the wall diagonal from my bed, I have a partially broken mirror that shows me only my face. I have a small empty dresser underneath it. My hair brush sits on top.

On the opposite wall, a rickety chair sits in the corner, covered in dust; a small closet with a thin door holds what little items I have in this world.

Underneath the window is a small night stand. On top is a small lamp, the only light fixture I have in the room. The drawer contains a letter from a woman named _**Michelle**_. The cubby hole is empty.

I awake as the sun sets into the earth. I rush downstairs to find the bar full of the regular crowd. Amber ran off with some guy when her shift ended. She'll be back tomorrow with genital warts.

I saw the cold sore on the guy's lip this morning.

Shep left the kitchen spotless. The only time he does that is when he's afraid Lou is onto to him for abusing me.

He is probably stalking Amber and the cold sore guy right now. He'll be back in the morning too.

I serve drink orders, clean tables, and wash glasses. I sweep the floors, do the day's laundry, and clean the furniture.

By **1:00 A.M. **the bar is empty. Lou is counting the money and I am mopping the floor. He tells me goodnight as I walk upstairs to my tiny room. He shuts off the light, leaving us both in the dark.

Once in my room, I throw my wrinkled clothes on the dusty chair in the corner. I find an old smelling night gown underneath the bed and shrug into it. I gingerly lay down in the bed, cradling my burned hand.

I roll on my side and wait for the bright, red numbers to roll over again to begin a new day.

**A/N:** Reviews please!


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